The mascurade ball hannibal x will x reader
by rowantree2002
Summary: At a Victorian mascaraed ball, you try to enact your revenge against the man who killed your family, but fate gets in the way.


The dancers whirl around you, there multi-coloured attire rising and falling with the spins of the dance like the breathing of a great beast. You find it hard not to get caught up in the beauty of it all, be lost to the easy life of glitz and glamour of the upper-class Victorians you have been surrounded with. But these people are as fake as the masks they were over their faces for the masquerade ball you are attending. Your hand reaches for the cold, smooth knife in your pocket. You know of the darkness in these people. You cannot let their exterior fool you. You know how evil the interior can be. You glance coolly around the vast room, your vision slightly obstructed by lase mask over your face. A rather garish mask made up of lavers of black silk and lace, fashioned to look like a ebony coloured swan, with feathers reacting down and brushing your cheeks like cold fingers. You sweep them away irritably. Now is not the time for distraction. Your eyes continue to dart around the room, searching for your prey. Your gaze lingers no one, and in return, no one so much as glances in your direction. Your cold eyes finally meet your target. A tall, sturdy man in a white suit and wearing a rabbit mask. If your 3 years of plotting have been correct, then this man, Tobias, is the man that murdered your family. He is standing with his back to the wall, glass of wine in hand, and smirk plastered across the lower part of his face. Your fingers itch at the thought of plunging a blade into his neck, feeling warm blood wash over your hand, hearing his last breath gurgle in throat. Your feet begin to move towards him at a strange, steady pace. You feel a wave of calm embrace you. This is what you have lived the last three years waiting for. This is your design. As you close the gap between yourself and the dead man standing, something at the very edge of your peripheral vision catches your attention. A man in a stag mask is watching you intently, his eyes gleaming at you from the depths of his fur and antler encased face. Your step falters. Who is this man? Why was he watching you? Does he know? How can he know? As the thoughts crowed your head, you watch as this strange man merges into the crowed, his blond hair and willowy figure melting out of sight. You shake your head and turn back to your target, you cannot let anything phase you tonight, no matter how strange. Your resume your course, weaving and dipping between the dancers, avoiding collisions and possible scene, your hand snakes around the knife in your pocket and you relish at the feeling of the cool, hard meatal sliding against your skin. Soon that meatal will be sliding into that's man's flesh. Just as you begin to draw the knife out from the folds of your dress, you see the man in the stag mask materialise out of the crowed, making a beeline strait for Tobias. You hesitate once more as the man in the stag mask looks towards you. This time he is not expressionless, and he flashes you a stomach churning, smug smile from beneath his mask. He strides over to Tobias, stoops down, wipers something in his ear, and point's strait at you. You don't stick around to see what happens next. You spin on your heal and begin to walk calmly towards the exit. You try to draw as little attention as possible as you dart through the dance, but as soon as you hear a shout behind you, you break into a full on sprint, and rush towards the exit. Barging through the dancers, you do not care who or what you crash into, and as a result, you leave a trail of disgruntled danced and wine soaked butlers in your wake. The shouts from behind you grow loader and closer with every passing moment. You didn't peg Tobias, the queens chief musician, as a fast runner, but he was covering the ground between you at an amazing pace, and you soon realise you cannot keep up this sprint forever. Your eyes dart around you, and lock onto a large set of ornate doors, leading off onto a rich, velvet carpeted hall lined with more doors. Perfect. You alter your course, and head to the hall, and speed around the corner, out of the line of vison of your pursuers. You try the first door. Locked. Drat. The second door opens more easily, allowing you passage into its sanctuary. You slip inside and close the door, just as you hear footsteps thunder past your hiding place, recede into the distance. You take a deep sigh, and sink to the ground. Safe, for now. 'Stand up slowly, and turn towards me' Shit. You feel a cold, sharp blade press against the back of your neck, and you raise your hands as a sign of compliance.

'Ok, ok', you hear yourself saying in a strange, forced voice, 'calm down, I can explain'. The point of the blade pushes harder into the base of your neck.

'Stand up' the voice says again, as cold and hard as the blade. You begin to stand, using the wall to brace you. As the adrenalin from the chase wares off, you feel shaky and sick. You turn around to face your attacker, braced for the worst. Instead of the murderous cut throat you expect to find, you are confronted with a young noble with a shock of curly back hair and a faint line of stubble lining his jaw. 'Who are you?' the man asks, his eyes not straying from your face.

'(f/n) (l/n)' you say, returning his gaze with as much defiance as you can manage in your weak state.

'So tell me (f/n), what are you doing in my room?'

'Running and hiding' you reply. You would not lose your cool to this man. You see a ghost of a smile tug at his lip, but it has gone soon after its arrival.

'And who are you running from (f/n)'

'The man who killed my parents'. At this, you see his arm falter, trembling as it points at your chest. His eyes search you, looking for concealed weapons of witch you have many, but his eyes rest on you calf, just above your ankle.

'Is the man who killed your father the same man who stabbed you in the leg?' you look down and see a slender dagger protruding oddly from your leg. Dam that Tobias. That is your last thought as the world goes dark around you.


End file.
